by Leo Romero
Rufus swung his head left and right. He wasn’t sure.
“You got a plan, right, buddy?”
Rufus shook his head.
Mack sighed. “Man, not this again.”
Rufus just stared at him.
Mack took a big breath. “Okay, so the plan is to drop you off, then you wing it from there?”
Rufus grinned and gave him a thumb up.
Mack grabbed his forehead. “Man, this isn’t gonna go well.” He pulled his canteen from his pocket and took a swig. He gazed off into the distance, shaking his head. He had another swig.
Rufus gave him an exasperated shrug. He’d been shoved into this against his will. All he knew was that he had to go and save Trixie and Dom, kill the vampires, get the Heart and get out. Other than that, it was all improvisation.
Mack popped the cap back on his canteen. “All right, buddy. Let’s move on out.”
They were airborne once more and they left the RAF base behind them. They passed over the deep, crystal clear blue of the Mediterranean, the water serene. Rufus stared down at it in apprehension. Although it was beautiful, crisp, and clean, the terrifying thought of crashing into it was bombarding his mind from nowhere.
It’s just nerves, he told himself. Mack said he hadn’t crashed since 1975. That was like forever ago.
He still couldn’t take his eyes off the water; it was mesmerizing. Rufus gulped, the rotors of the chopper whirling around in his mind. Phut-phut-phut-phut!
He managed to tear himself from the window and checked his watch. Mack said it was a three hour flight to the pyramid. It was 8 am local time. He had until midday to save Trixie and Dom otherwise it was...
He didn’t want to think about it.
He looked over his stuff for the millionth time. His duffle bag with his supply of water and everything else. His dart guns and sun cannon were resting on the seat next to him. The first signs of adrenaline seeping into his system surfaced. His legs jangled. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach. He didn’t know where he was or where he was going. The constant images in his mind of Trixie and Dom in trouble and of Papa and Vincent were what drove him to see this through, to bear the discomfort, nerves and pain. He was their last hope, he had to be strong, strong like a rock for them. He clasped his hands together and focused on them. They trembled on the air. The more he focused, the more the butterflies began to dissipate. He’d been shot four times and survived, that made him special, that made him badass. That’s why Vincent sent him out. He had all the tools he needed, all he had to do was get in there, save Trixie and Dom and get out.
You can do it, you can do it, you CAN DO IT!
He took out his smartphone and began rifling through all the crap stored on it. Photos, songs, old messages, anything just to keep his mind occupied. It did the trick. Before he knew it, the Mediterranean came to an end, and land began. Desert-yellow land. The blue undulations of waves suddenly became the yellow ripples of sand dunes. Rufus gazed down and around in amazement. The Sahara was a sprawling sea of yellow; a seemingly endless swathe of sand. They passed over the Pyramids of Giza. Rufus whipped up his smartphone and snapped a picture of them through the window. He checked it; it was a bit blurry, but he’d managed to catch them. He never thought he’d get to see them and now there they were. He craned his neck back, making sure to enjoy the sight of them as much as possible before they vanished from view. They weren’t the pyramids they were heading for. The Pyramid of Osiris was further south, a great pyramid sitting on its lonesome further into the desert.
Rufus sat back and stared at the hellfire of the Sahara. It was a wasteland, an arid deathtrap. It spanned as far as the eye could see, not a soul or sign of life in sight. He was glad he wasn’t down there; he’d be lost. The chopper was allowing them to pass over massive amounts of desert in no time, trying to do this by foot was unthinkable. He shivered, even though the temperature had shot up. He was sweating, it plastered the tee he was wearing below his shirt to his back. He wiped his brow and grabbed one of the many bottles of water from his duffle bag. He popped the cap and took a swig. As the luscious water slipped down his throat, his eyes fell on something in the distance. A yellow triangle jutting out of the horizon. Nerves shot through his stomach. The Pyramid of Osiris, he was sure of it. Their destination; they were almost there, and then the action would begin. He steeled himself with a deep breath, and lowered his eyes. He frowned.
Are there... cars down there?
Yeah, it was. A row of jeeps, cars, and armored vehicles were coursing through the desert like a giant centipede toward the pyramid. There must have been twenty of them all in a row.
What is that? Who are they? Where are they going?
As they passed over the convoy, Rufus scanned the vehicles to get some answers. His eyes widened. Someone was standing up on the open back of a Jeep. A guy with a masked face. He was staring up at the chopper as it flew by. He had something resting on his shoulder. Something long and thin. Rufus narrowed his eyes.
Is that a...?
Rufus’ eyes bulged. His jaw dropped, panic rocketing through his mind. He watched in horror as the masked guy aimed the RPG launcher resting on his shoulder their way. He wanted to scream, wanted so desperately to warn Mack, to get him to dodge what was heading their way, but it was impossible. Inevitable. All he could do was watch as the masked guy pulled the trigger. Plumes of white smoke shot out from both ends of the launcher.
Rufus gulped.
In the next instant, a huge impact somewhere on the chopper jolted them off to the side, throwing him off his seat. The helicopter went into a tailspin. The world whirled like a carousel. An emergency alarm blared out, puncturing the whir of the rotors. Red lights blinked on and off in a jagged sequence.
“Hold onto your butt!” Mack’s robotic voice blasted through the chopper intercom. Rufus’ mind spun in a chaotic downward spiral; it tried to grip onto something, but there was nothing but a huge red and gray blur. The moment was in a state of constant, unavoidable flux. Control had been completely lost; now it was just a case of lessening the blow and getting out alive. The red light burned constant now, the harsh buzz of the alarm like a howling wolf. His stomach jumped up into his chest. He grabbed hold of his cheeks and clawed at them, a panic-loaded fear now fragmenting his mind. His worst nightmare was suddenly a reality. But now it wasn’t the sea that he was crashing into, it was the sand. They plummeted from the sky like a lead balloon.
Yellow filled all of the window spaces around him at a rapid speed. He just had time to gasp before the chopper thudded into the sand with a mighty jolt. He was thrown back, his body smashing against the far wall. Pain juddered through his bones. His momentum sent him back the way he came; he smashed into the seats and flopped to the floor. The red light blinked off, the siren cut out. Everything came to an abrupt halt. And it all went silent.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The jihadi with the RPG watched in glee as his grenade careered into the side of the chopper flying overhead. The rest of them erupted into cheering at the sound of the impact, followed by the chopper spiraling out of control and crashing into the desert somewhere in the far distance, leaving a trail of black smoke in the sky. The crash echoed across the Sahara to be met with furious waves of black flags and celebratory gunfire into the sky in triumph.
Dom watched the helicopter spin away in despondency. “Ouch.” He turned to the side to be met with Trixie’s wide-eyed stare; it was fixed on the chopper as it disappeared somewhere on the horizon. Their open-backed truck continued on its path to the Pyramid of Osiris. Trixie’s eyes dropped alongside the helicopter.
Dom looked the other way. The masked guy sitting above them on the edge of the truck was still aiming his assault rifle at them all, as were three of his buddies encircling them. Sitting on the truck floor opposite Dom, Nixon was on his ass, his face contorted in disgust. Next to him, Faisal was cross-legged, his arms folded over his chest. To Dom, he looked like a genie. He had a pissed expression on
his face like he was more irritated than fearful. He kept huffing the whole journey like a kid whose favorite toy been taken away.
“That another one of your rescue plans?” Dom asked Nixon with a grin, flicking his head to the dissipating black smoke in the sky.
“Very funny, Dempsey,” Nixon grunted. “You should be grateful someone actually wanted to save your sorry ass.”
“I’d rather take my chances with the croc back in the Amazon than you.”
“Trust me, I wasn’t keen on the idea either. I’d rather have left you with this bunch of assholes than save you.”
“Can you two please shut it!” Trixie sneered. “We’re being led to our executions, I’d rather spend my last moments on this planet in peace.”
“You think Vincent isn’t gonna trade the relics for our lives?” Dom asked in a voice laced with depression.
“I hope not,” Trixie retorted. “If the House of Rah gets those relics, then you can kiss bye bye to the world. Imagine this lot being in charge of it. That’s what’ll happen. If Dad’s got any sense, he’ll...” she broke off, looked away briefly, and continued. “He’ll not negotiate. He’ll leave us to die.”
Dom shook his head. “You can’t be serious, Trix.”
“I am, Dom. Our lives are a small sacrifice for the greater good.”
“Man, that’s a depressing thought.”
Nixon shifted. “Don’t worry. They’ll probably send in a crack unit of marines or SEALS to come and get us outta here.”
Dom’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah? Well, where are they? Maybe that was them that just got blown outta the sky.”
Nixon jabbed a thick finger at him. “You know nothing, sumbitch! We’re brothers in arms. We’ll die for one another!”
Dom sighed. “You really think anyone gives a rat’s ass about a mercenary like you? Wake up and smell the frickin’ coffee, buddy. No one cares a damn about a sellout like you. We’re all off to die.”
One of the masked guys jabbed the muzzle of his gun forward and yapped something in Arabic. Dom got the message, he leaned back and showed the guy his palms. Nixon shot the guy an acidic glare and eased back.
The convoy continued through the desert.
Rufus slumped back against the battered metal of the fuselage floor, his mind hazy with pain. His eyes zoned in and out, his head whirling in a lazy circle. For a few seconds, he didn’t have a clue where he was or what even happened. All he knew was that his body had taken another beating. And it hurt.
He touched his forehead with his fingertips, images of blue sky and yellow sand gliding through his tender mind. It was the last thing he remembered. They were in the sky, something hit them, and now they’d crashed. And he’d survived.
With half open eyes, he gazed around. The seats stared back at him. A scent hit his nostrils; a hot, unpleasant smell that stirred his senses like smelling salts. Gas.
Panic signals exploded like fireworks through his mind. Get out, Rufus! Get out! Get out of there!
He gave his head a brisk shake, his bleary eyes coming back into focus. He rolled onto his belly and got his bearings as fast as he could. He reached up for the door handle and yanked it. At first it was stuck. His heart started to hammer hard, his mind racing.
Please don’t say the door’s twisted in its rails!
He gave it a desperate pull. It popped and slid across with a loud squeal of metal-on-metal. Relief surged through his veins as a searing, dry atmosphere stormed into the fuselage, enveloping him like a glove. Rufus squeezed himself out of the gap like a worm easing through a crack in dry soil. The sun hit his skin; it heated in seconds. He took hold of the sandy ground outside; it was like putting his hands in hot coals. He gritted his teeth against the burn, and used his grip on the sand to drag himself out of the wreckage, the world outside hot and smoky. As he hauled himself along, sand got into his mouth. He spat it straight out, remnants of grit still on his tongue. He dug his hands deeper into the sand and dragged his body some more. Finally, he released himself from the chopper where he collapsed onto the hot sand in exhaustion, his body still riddled with pain.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, grains of sand flying up into his nose. The stuff was everywhere. He coughed some out of his mouth, the terrifying realization that he’d survived a helicopter crash hitting home.
The strong aroma of gas hit his nostrils one again, severing the thought. His face flew upward, sand falling from his cheek. The danger wasn’t over. He hoisted himself up to his aching legs, sand cascading from his clothes. He ran away from the wreckage as fast as he could, the sand hindering his escape. He made it a few meters when a sudden thought stopped him in his tracks. Mack!
Rufus spun back to face the smoking debris. Hot, black smoke was billowing from what was left of the front of the helicopter fuselage, blocking the view into the cockpit. Even though the leaking gas meant it was dangerous to go near the wreck, Rufus knew he had to go and check on Mack.
He ploughed through the sand back toward the cockpit, the smell of gas growing strong again. He ducked his head away from the black smoke and popped the pilot’s door as fast as he could. He threw it open. Mack’s body fell out of it and slumped down on the sand. Rufus gazed down at Mack’s sprawled body; blood from a nasty gash was smeared across his forehead. His eyes were wide and glazed, his jaw slack.
Rufus’ chest slumped in remorse. Mack didn’t make it. Sadness filled his heart. He turned to the side and thumped his thigh in anger.
An abrupt cough burst from Mack’s chest, his body twitching like he’d been pumped with electricity. Rufus’ eyes widened in hope. He’s alive!
Rufus grabbed hold of Mack under his arms and yanked. He managed to drag Mack from the wreckage, backing up as fast as he could, that smell of gas still strong and ominous. Mack’s body was like a bag of rocks, Rufus had to pull real hard to get him out of there. Rufus clenched his teeth and worked his legs as hard as he could, the sand helping to shift Mack along once he got going. Mack’s eyes popped open for a second; they whirled around. He mumbled something that Rufus couldn’t make out. Rufus ignored him; his main priority was to get him to safety before the chopper blew.
He made it around ten feet away when a white flash made him flinch. Fire erupted from the wreckage and began licking at the remains. Rufus gulped. They were still too close. He sped up, his legs working overtime. He dragged Mack’s limp body back as hard as he could, the chords in his neck straining. Soon, the fires were a shimmering inferno. There was a loud pop, a series of crackles, and then an almighty bang.
Rufus dropped Mack and dived down on top of him, just as debris and small shrapnel-like pieces of the chopper exploded out in all directions. Rufus threw his head down, his body protecting Mack. In the following seconds, tiny pieces of metal and rubber smacked against his back. He sucked in heated air through his teeth. He looked up and something hit him in the nose and bounced off into the sand.
Ow!
He huffed in anger. The small jabs of pain subsided, and everything calmed. He stared at the wreckage. What was left of the chopper was still ablaze, but most of the fire had died down. Smoke billowed from the center of the debris.
Rufus let out a rueful sigh. That was the only transport they had.
He made it gingerly to his feet and spun in a full circle. They were lost in a desolate, golden sea. Above him, the sky was the deepest, clearest blue he’d ever witnessed. It was the color of the sea they’d just crossed; clean, rich, picture perfect. Rufus rolled his face toward the ball of fire in the sky; it was the angriest and most virulent he’d ever seen it. He never knew it could be in such a state. It was a raging globule of liquid fire, blasting the whole area in all directions from horizon to horizon with an invisible blanket of radiation, baking the sand to a searing temperature. It was relentless, determined to cook whatever it gazed down upon. Already, Rufus was drenched in sweat. His tongue was bone dry; it stuck to the roof of his mouth as if it was lined with peanut butter. Precious water dripped dow
n his face from his forehead like a cruel joke. While his mind knew he needed to preserve water, his body thought it was better to use it to try and cool him down. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and licked the residue off. A thin, salty layer of water spread over his tongue. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t; his mouth was too dry. And already more sweat was pouring down his forehead. He knew he’d be dust if he didn’t get water.
He glanced back at the wreckage. There was water in his duffle bag. He prayed it was still salvageable. He dashed back toward the wreckage, the heat from the fires hitting him. He stopped a few feet away and scanned the area. His duffle bag was lying in the sand near the burned-out fuselage. At least what was left of it. His heart sunk; it had been toasted.
Hmph! Great.
But, some items were scattered nearby. With renewed hope in his heart, Rufus dashed over, hoping to scavenge something. He surveyed the scene. Both his dart guns were sitting on the sand a few feet away. He went and grabbed them up, shaking loose sand from them. He stuffed them in his belt, and checked the sand again. The sun cannon was lying off on its own to the right. Rufus took it and gave it a quick check. All good. He strapped it over his back. While he did, something on the ground caught his eye as it glinted under the sun like diamonds. His eyes widened in hope. A bottle of water had somehow survived the crash too. He snatched it up and took a greedy swig. Warm water spread over his dry tongue; it was heavenly. He ran straight over to Mack. He poured a little precious water on his own hand and dabbed at the wound on Mack’s forehead. Mack winced and muttered something under his breath. Rufus pushed the blood-clotted hair away from Mack’s brow and continued to clean the wound. He spilled a little water in between Mack’s lips. Rufus sighed. Mack needed attention bad. He had to get him to safety, he couldn’t leave him there to bake in the sun. He glanced back at the remains of the chopper and the items scattered around the damaged fuselage. Something else had been blown out. Something that he’d noticed attached to the wall during the flight. He scampered over to it and snatched it up. He looked it over. Already the bright orange plastic was heating up in the sun. He knew what it was, he just didn’t know how to...